Logan the Yak

My Daddy is real cowboy. You may choose to read that in whatever voice or with whatever connotation you choose, but its true. No, really. He works cattle for a living, wears the hat and spurs, says ‘ma’am’… the whole bit. My dad is truly the toughest person I know. His lifestyle and natural grit have created a very daring, resilient human being. His best friend is my Uncle Matt. Uncle Matt is not my dad’s brother through shared genetics, rather through shared experience, mutual respect, and common lifestyle. Their willingness to take on any level of risk to pursue their cowboy existence is what made them known as two of the toughest, most genuine cowboys in their part of the country.

Part of growing up with cowboys means that weekends are spent doing cowboy things – gathering cattle, running cows through a chute, quoting lines from Lonesome Dove – you know, normal childhood activities. Often, people would call on my dad and Uncle Matt to gather cattle that no one else could touch. They worked well as a team, took risks that others would not, and gained a reputation for being able to accomplish things that no one else could – this often led to some ‘interesting’ situations. They were regularly quoted saying “it’s a miracle we ain’t been killed or maimed” and it is true – it was a miracle.

One specifically memorable weekend my dad was called on to catch a cow that had made its way onto a neighboring property. This is a fairly common occurrence in the cattle industry and rarely requires the intervention of a cowboy operation. However, it was advised that this particular retrieval may require a team… and a tranquilizer gun.

My sister and I rode with my dad and Uncle Matt to the pasture where our Saturday activity was scheduled to take place. We were met there my another man named Matt – the name is about the only quality he shared with my uncle, however, additional help was requested and 2 little girls were not likely to be of use. When we arrived to the property it was very apparent that this was not a typical cattle farm. The entire perimeter of the 40 acre property was fenced with pallets – you read that correctly, the wooden structures known best for their fame on pinterest boards everywhere, were wired together to hold in a herd of cattle. The trucks were parked along the side of the dirt road and the horses were unloaded.

All the men mounted their horses and ventured into the pasture to find the cattle, specifically, the cow that did not belong. My sister and I stayed near the trucks as was our custom in situations that were expected to be perilous. Soon, my sister and I were greeted by an older couple who appeared to be plucked from a fairytale. Their loosefitting clothing and messy gray hair gave off the impression that they would sip tea and eat porridge – certainly not walk down dirt roads and own a palleted pasture. However, they asked us “are you here to catch the cows?!”. We confirmed that was our purpose and explained that the cowboys were in the pasture to gather the herd. Just then, the 3 amigos came riding back towards us explaining that they did not see anything in the pasture. The older couple seemed to expect this and noted that you had to call them in as they were very good at hiding. This seemed odd to our experienced bunch. The older woman began to shake a bucket of feed while her husband belted out “COW COW COW COW COW”. A few short moments of this and the old man was interrupted with “YYYAAAAAAKKKKKKKK” – the other Matt yelled. And he was correct. Over the hill an entire heard of yaks came running towards their familiar call. For those unaware, a yak is much larger than a cow and has long shaggy hair. Within the group was the single cow that we had been called to retrieve. Also within the herd was a bull yak – his name was Logan.

Logan was an extremely large, extremely aggressive black bull yak with horns that were clearly placed on his head as deadly weapons. His herd was made up of about 10 other yaks, all female, and one cow. I will leave it up to my reader to decide which of these creatures was Logan’s favorite. Logan and his harem were all gathered into a smaller pen. The initial plan was to separate the cow, load her into a trailer, and drive away. This should be an incredibly simple task for this group of men. However, the first and second attempts at this caused Logan such extreme distress that he destroyed an entire section of the corral by lifting the panels from the bottom with his horns and tossing them away like insignificant debris, all while successfully keeping the horseback operation from his new love interest. The entire herd followed his lead by running and bawling in their confined space. The need for a tranquilizer gun was making more sense now.

The older couple became upset. The yaks were their pets, fragile lives that were to be cherished. The woman offered a piece of advice. She grabbed a long aluminum pole and held it horizontally to her forehead – she explained that if you convince the leader that your horns are bigger than theirs, they will see you as dominant. As she held up her artificial horns she began to sway side to side and sing. The lullaby that poured from her calmed her troubled creatures. They dropped their heads near the ground and became quiet. Except for Logan. He was still snorting and pacing – not to be fooled by fake blue horns and sweet nursery rhymes.

After some quick repairs to the corral, the cowboys tried once again to separate the cow from the herd. With the other yaks cooperating this plan had a greater chance of success. They cautiously, sectioned the cow from the distracted yaks, watching carefully for Logan. SUCCESS! The cow was outside of the corral! Now, just to load her in the trailer – Uncle Matt roped her to guide her in. Suddenly, Logan was soaring over the top of the pallet enclosure. Jumping yaks – its not a circus act yet but give it time. This is the sort of entertainment that must be experienced to be believed. Logan’s only mission was to keep his new concubine. He began running at Uncle Matt’s horse. It is important to note that Uncle Matt was riding a colt (young horse) with the intent to break him (initial training to become a horse that can be used for work or pleasure riding, this usually begins when the horse is about 2 or 3 years old). Many cowboys will break colts for extra money and it is not uncommon to expose these young creatures to intense situations in order to remove fear – think: exposure therapy for animals. With that, Logan, the large shaggy yak with giant mankiller horns was running at this young horse with Uncle Matt on his back. The colt did not handle this well. The resulting collision ended with a request to “Get my gun!”. A request riddled with expletives and leaving the audience wondering if he meant the tranquilizer gun or something a bit more fatal.

It was finally decided that there was no chance of a lullabies or corrals bringing Logan to submission. Logan would have to be roped and loaded into a trailer in order to secure him in a way that was safe for everyone involved. To emphasize that point – Logan, the giant yak who is now furious is going to be roped, loaded into a trailer against his will, and locked in place so that he could watch his newest infatuation be loaded into a separate trailer and ripped from his loving embrace. This should go well. The old couple is watching in disbelief. They are appalled at Logan’s behavior and the audacity of these cowboys that have interrupted their peaceful hobby herd.

With the utmost skill and grit, Logan was roped and lured into the transportation box for his own safe keeping. Grace and finesse were not missing from this scene, but these characteristics would have to be interpreted through the cussing, clanging metal, threats to bodily harm and flying ropes. Not to mention the bawling, kicking, and snorting. It was a beautiful example of organized chaos.

With Logan loaded in the trailer, the cow was retrieved. The relief was tangible. Logan was released, he quickly gathered his herd and hurried them away from the corral before any more of them were robbed from him. The old woman provided one last piece of advice. “Never turn your back on them” speaking of the yaks, “They have to know that you are in charge”… As she spoke these words, Logan snorted behind her.

As we all settled into the truck two things were agreed – we would eventually see the old couple on the news, Uncle Matt’s colt would be named Logan.